I’m utterly devoted to the rosebush against that wall.
Leaves and flowers grow thick, light and shadow shifting over them.
One bloom flourishes in memory; another is still a bud in the present.
When the roses bloom, it feels as if I can see that boy again...
At the school enclosed by a square fence, I would often push open the window. On winter mornings, I watched the sun slowly spill over the horizon. On summer nights, I watched the dim yellow streetlights stretch for miles through the quiet little town, which felt almost desolate. Behind me, the classroom was stifling and noisy. Mount Ta sat where the sunset melted into gold. How many years had he stood there? The wind swept in from the heights, carrying the scent of camphor trees, open fields, and highways. It played havoc with my hair. I closed my eyes and felt the wild wind slip between my fingers.
“Fang Zhiyou, look!”
I looked down from the window. The boy sprang up, and the basketball followed a perfect arc into the hoop. It bounced a few times, then thumped into place. Rose petals danced in the golden light of the slanting sun. Amid the fluttering blossoms, the boy casually wiped away his sweat and smiled at me, as radiant as the setting sun.
For a moment, it seemed the breeze had slipped through the pines, and that boy in the white shirt stood before me once more...
